


Hunter and Beast

by Taera



Series: Obsession [4]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Established Relationship, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, The Guard of Priwen, Various OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Taera
Summary: Frowning, Geoffrey looked back ahead at the familiar figure in a white doctor coat. The dreams aside, it always felt like a shock every time he considered their relationship, yet he'd grown to like and respect this man. He stopped wanting to end this insanity, knowing full well by now they were depending on each other too much.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Obsession [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530347
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	Hunter and Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the link to the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Wi0QqNlkHhRgewRChea88?si=xqxx5SxbTnqQsCdeyWSFaw), if you haven't seen it already :)  
> I'm just being thorough here, no pressure :D

He really, really should've been more careful, but dammit he'd gotten so used to being the hunter he didn't even consider a possibility that some leech might pick him as its prey. He knew it was out there in the realm of various what-ifs, but seriously thinking and preparing for such an event? He'd gotten too self-assured, overconfident in his skills, forgetting about the other side of this coin.

It was his fourth day in Manchester when the Ekon jumped him. Geoffrey was actually having a good time, for Christ's sake; and then he got out of the pub into the cloudy night, pleasantly warm and tipsy, torn between going to bed and going to find some trouble.

The trouble found him without any help. The beast was smart: it stalked, waited until he was alone, and then made his blood freeze in his veins before shadow-jumping right in front of him. The pain was as excruciating as ever, the pressure in his head making his ears ring and eyes throb, sobering him up in record time.

One second. Geoffrey was one second away from getting fangs deep in his neck when he finally willed himself through the blasted magic and smashed his forehead right into the leech's nose. It broke with a wet satisfying crunch, making the beast yelp in pain and reel back. Red haze gathered around its right hand. Geoffrey jumped away just in time to evade sharp claws. When he unsheathed his sword, the leech tried to freeze him again, but now that he knew about this trick and broke through it once, it was easy to shield against it. Something he learned during the numerous fights in the dreams.

They danced for several minutes, exchanging blows and jabs, and soon it became painfully obvious this Ekon relied too heavily on his stunning ability. It melted away into shadows more than once, trying to get to Geoffrey, too intent on tasting his blood to consider why was this human moving _away_ from the street and into the dark well of an alley, narrow and winding, all the while managing to evade most of the murderous swipes of hissing claws. But Geoffrey was used to this kind of battlefield and he knew leeches thought human sight too feeble for this gloom. He wasn't the first hunter to learn fighting with little to no light at his disposal. It was a necessary skill, one that their very survival often depended upon.

When he took out a stake, the leech only laughed. Stupid beast.

As the wood pierced its fancy jacket and broke its ribs and plunged right into its dead heart, the leech could only snarl, stumbling back; Geoffrey went with it, turning them so that he caught the beast against a wall, and then pressed some more, pinning it. The beast jerked and kicked and hissed, tried to slice into Geoffrey's guts, his sides, his face. He was able to duck and block only because _every_ leech with claws tried to do that when it was close enough. They were predictable like that.

After, Geoffrey cut its head off, just to be on the safe side. And if he spent a strangely long time watching dark blood pooling under his feet… well. He had these… _thoughts_. They were pretty easy to ignore on a normal day, but the moment he killed a leech and saw its blood there they were, churning in his head, tempting and batshit insane. No human in their right mind would ever want to taste this cursed blood, yet he _craved_ it.

Geoffrey carefully wiped his sword on the leech's clothes. If anyone were to ask why his hands trembled a little, he would've feigned ignorance.

  
  
  


He doesn't dive back into the… darker dreams too often. Still, from time to time it's simply _necessary_ to let go and put everything into the fight, not bothered by anything. And when the light seeps out, he feels the red eyes watching his every move as he walks silently down dark halls, the floor littered with corpses in various stages of decay, some familiar and some not. Then, later, if he's not good enough, pale hands close around his throat, his shoulders.

The Dragon is always there when Geoffrey looks into this abyss of their making, stench of death cloying in his mouth and nose, the hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end as the Dragon gets closer. When they dream this nightmare, there is no place for anything but the pain, the fight, the Hunt. And it's not ugly. There is an exhilarating beauty in the way they circle each other; hunter and its prey in the beginning, but now, as Geoffrey finally knows how to move as fast as an Ekon, they are two predators. Equal even in the darkest of dreams.

In a morbid, terrifying way it's almost soothing, how the Dragon is always there, lurking just outside his view, waiting for the moment to strike and claim him. It's… familiar. By this time, Geoffrey knows this devil oh so well, and the nightmares are not as disgusting anymore.

And it scares him, but only after he wakes up.

More frequently, their dreams are softer, bathed in golden light from a fireplace, warm wood and plush carpet under their feet; or crisp and green, rolling hills of grass hiding crumbling old stones, myriad of stars overhead reflected in the dark mirror of a lake. Sometimes, they talk. Sometimes, they just sit there and bask in the memories. Sometimes, they fuck.

And they fight; certainly not the be-victorious-or-perish kind he has with the Dragon or anything too serious, no. Just sparring, to practice their old and new skills and let out some steam. And it's Jonathan still, not a demon with his face, albeit his eyes do melt into black and red the more he lets go of his control; fuck, Geoffrey can _feel_ his relief as the moon-coloured eyes turn hellish red. He mentally cringes every time he thinks what it must be like, holding himself so tightly under control it must be painful even to breathe, when even a smallest lapse can result in something unnatural. God knows anybody in such a situation will snap into a murderous bastard sooner or later. It's just that Jonathan is lucky enough to have Geoffrey and their dreams to play without worrying too much about the consequences. And maybe Geoffrey might've felt guilty for using Jonathan to become a better hunter, but the man gets as much out of this as Geoffrey does. Perhaps even more.

Somewhere along the way, Geoffrey stops thinking too much about it and simply enjoys what he has. After all, it helps him stay on top of his game _and_ sates his desire for the adrenalin he can't really find in the real world anymore.

And, if he's completely frank, the sex is… amazing. It was good before, but now, when they know each other so well? Even the fights become part of their game; exquisite, sweet torture that can go on for what seems like hours before one of them finally, beautifully caves in, succumbing to the heat and begging to be fucked, _demanding_ it.

Geoffrey can't really say if he'd be able to live _without_ their dreams anymore. Hell, he's insane enough to admit he even starts to like the nightmares with the Dragon, in a twisted sort of way. He wants too much, now. And with their shared dreams? He gets _everything he wants_.

  
  
  


The Guard of Priwen had settled into a routine, the organisation running like a well-oiled machine without needing too much of his input in its day to day dealings. Truly, it was their golden time even considering the post-war tension. It was harder than Geoffrey anticipated, but they managed to stay the hell away from human politics. Well, as much as they could, anyway. For Christ's sake, it all went so well Geoffrey was starting to believe some sort of a disaster was brewing silently just below the horizon, waiting for the moment to strike. He wouldn't be too shocked when all would finally break loose, one way or another.

There were no urgent meetings to attend to, no crises to avert, no especially strange reports and missing scouts to investigate. He was continuing to move around so much simply because he wanted the hunt, and when he spent too much time in one place the vermin had the tendency to either die out, hide or run away. No, he would not be able to settle down. Especially not in London, since Jonathan made it his domain, and the closer he got to the man, the easier it was for them to connect. The brighter the link. The deeper the dreams.

In there, Geoffrey even grew intimately familiar with the taste of Jonathan's blood. It was like King Arthur's blood, only a lot richer, more vibrant in its deluge of hues; a clear promise of strength and life, sharp, bright, and young. They didn't talk about it, not really. It was another something they did in their dreams, safe from the repercussions. Also, Geoffrey suspected Jonathan didn't quite realise how deeply this craving for cursed blood had rooted itself into his mind. After all, the man simply wasn't devious enough to mess his head up with yet another brand of insanity in addition to the mess he already did by sparkling their obsession with each other.

They talked about many different things when they both were in the right mood, and Geoffrey _was_ interested in various topics, but by God when Jonathan tried to keep him in the loop about the experiments and the research he was conducting on his blood it, suddenly, became so _boring_. In fact, Geoffrey couldn't remember much of what was said. Although he did like watching Jonathan so alive and vibrant, excited by the findings and the new questions; Geoffrey would sprawl in the armchair and watch the man talk, relaxing in a rare moment of peace.

And that was why he was on a train to London, actually. Jonathan was finished with the research and ready to share the results that he refused to tell earlier. All he needed was a little more of Geoffrey's blood, as he'd managed to use every last drop of what he took all those weeks ago. It was… they would have to meet in person for that, and Geoffrey would deny it till his last breath, but he really felt apprehensive just thinking about it. About getting so close to Jonathan. He _knew_ what would happen. He _wanted_ it, for fuck's sake.

What was even worse, Geoffrey could literally feel their link getting stronger with each passing yard; he wasn't even in London proper, yet he could already point to where Jonathan was right now. Sleeping, probably, as it was still early evening. Geoffrey couldn't do something like that before. And to think that he was away only for a month, month and a half at the most. Hell, at this rate, in another several months they would be able to speak in their minds while being awake. Or do something equally crazy, like looking through each other's eyes.

Geoffrey shuddered at the thought. When he concentrated he became _aware_ of Jonathan, the bond making the skin over his sternum itch. No, scratch that, making his _whole body_ itch. By the time he walked familiar streets, eyeing the people and noting the possible sources of danger, Geoffrey was convinced that this deep, empty _thirst_ inside was coming from Jonathan.

He felt how fucking _hungry_ Jonathan was!

Geoffrey was equal parts disgusted and fascinated by the rats scuttling around in the darkness, and it took him some serious willpower to pull away from the alien urges. Now, _that_ was a new level of wholly fucked up. Thankfully, he had time to pull himself together, so that by the time Jonathan woke up and the sharp pang of thirst pierced his whole body like a goddamn lightning it only made Geoffrey's breath hitch instead of sending him to his knees.

"Un- _fucking-_ believable," growling under his breath, he stopped and, unable to help himself, looked in the direction of where he knew Jonathan was. Why wasn't he surprised that the idiot, burrowing too deeply into his work and research, forgot to feed properly? No wonder he was gulping his blood so greedily any chance he got in the dreams. Jesus Christ, and to think that this man was surrounded by weak and wounded and _blood_ on a nightly basis.

Next time he got to sleep, already in the safety of the Priwen headquarters (another warehouse repurposed for their needs, _away_ from the one that Jonathan knew about), Geoffrey told Jonathan everything he thought about his eating habits, all the while feeling like he was talking to a damn rookie. Well, more like growling menacingly, but that wasn't the point.

For the next two days Geoffrey busied himself with work, training and mingling with his men, refusing to meet Jonathan until the idiot finally ate something. Somehow, Geoffrey even managed to shut their link, getting the piece and quiet he didn't know he wanted so much (but already starting to miss the bloodsucker, dammit).

As the thirst subsided, it was almost a relief to dive back into the shared dream.

  
  
  


"I apologise for my behaviour," Jonathan sheepishly smiles, his pale eyes not so hungry anymore. He's sitting in his usual chair, legs casually crossed.

Geoffrey sighs. "Now that you're done starving yourself, tell me what exactly do you even need my blood for? Didn't you say you got the results last Monday?"

"Yes, well. I'd like to do one more test. Actually, it will be more for your sake than anything else, because my words alone won't be enough. Also, please, take Gordon with you when you come visit me. He's dealing with your wounds more frequently than I am, and it's important for him to know about this, too. _And_ he'll help me to convince you," Jonathan adds, a smile curving the corner of his lips.

Knowing this tone of voice, Geoffrey has no illusions as to the real reason. He's a grown man, dammit, he can take whatever information Jonathan uncovered in his blood without a fucking chaperone. Geoffrey snorts. "Yeah, him being there would definitely stop us from jumping each other the moment we get into the same room."

There's no warning. Jonathan melts into the shadows.

Geoffrey gets out of his armchair the second he feels magic warp around Jonathan. When no sound of a body crashing into the furniture comes, Geoffrey realises his mistake. It's not a shadow-jump, it's an invisibility cloak.

And then he's tumbling to the floor, and Jonathan is on top of him even before Geoffrey starts twisting into a roll, the weight familiar from so many fights they already had. The moment Jonathan settles on his thighs and catches his wrists in a crushing grip, a bright flare of lust explodes in Geoffrey's stomach, half his own, half Jonathan's.

Pale blue changes into crimson.

Geoffrey lets out a hoarse laugh. If it were even three weeks earlier, he would've said something about how Jonathan really was nothing but a monster in disguise, but now? Now Geoffrey grinds his hips upwards and smiles sharply at the way the red eyes glimmer and darken with desire. The white melts into black.

By God, he can even tell apart the lust for blood from one for sex, now.

Geoffrey groans as Jonathan jerks his shirt out from the trousers and with another jank opens it; buttons skitter all over the floor. Cool lips are still a shock to his hot skin, long fingers clenching strong enough to leave bruises, fangs pressing lightly, a silent promise. He knows this mood; when Jonathan is like that, the more Geoffrey fights, the bloodier it will get.

He growls and tries to break free, using all the strength a mere human should not possess. Every last slither of his being is _singing._

  
  
  


It was already late evening when Geoffrey finally managed to talk Gordon into going with him. Despite how the old man was the only one to treat Jonathan like a human being back when he helped their wounded after dealing with the fire beasts, he was _not_ impressed by the invitation into the beast's lair.

Well, it wasn't _just_ dumb luck that this old hunter managed to live for so long after all; talking to him, Geoffrey felt like he was looking into a warped mirror.

"By God, this is creepy," Gordon grumbled as they stepped into Jonathan's office, nurse hovering nearby, frowning at them. She didn't say anything, nor did she go into the room after them.

Geoffrey stiffened and eyed the old man over his shoulder. Gordon was clearly on high alert, looking from Geoffrey to Jonathan and back, his posture that of a hunter walking into the den of a powerful leech, nervous and poised for an attack. Geoffrey should've behaved like that, too, only he was insane and thought Jonathan wouldn't do anything to them. He felt _relaxed_ , comfortable even. A leader of Priwen, comfy with a leech. God _damn_ it.

Frowning, Geoffrey looked back ahead at the familiar figure in a white doctor coat. The dreams aside, it always felt like a shock every time he considered their relationship, yet he'd grown to like and respect this man. He stopped wanting to end this insanity, knowing full well by now they were depending on each other too much.

The nurse closed the door behind them with a soft click.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Jonathan was sitting at one of his worktables, lamps bright almost to the point of _too bright_ , open journal before him, a scattering of various papers and open books hiding the tabletop beneath. When he straightened and turned to them, long pale fingers holding a pen above the pages in a casual demonstration of grace, Geoffrey had to stifle an urge to grab Jonathan by the lapels of his coat and lick away this infuriating little smile.

 _Bastard_.

The smile grew wider.

"Everything is ready for the test. If you'd take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve, please," Geoffrey considered arguing but settled onto a deep frown as he walked into the room and did as he was told. Gordon mumbled something under his breath, too soft for Geoffrey to catch the words. Most likely, he was voicing his incredulity as to Geoffrey's obedience and their overall amiability. And cursing, yes.

Cold shudder rolled down Geoffrey's spine as he let his jacket fall over the back of a familiar chair, and it had nothing to do with the temperature; if anything, the room was too hot, stifling almost.

God almighty, he allowed himself to be tamed by a fucking leech, he really did, didn't he. And although it did _not_ get in the way of his hunts, he also wasn't hating all the vermin so indiscriminately, either. Well, right now there were only two exceptions, but they _all_ were bloody parasites, they _all_ should be exterminated. Geoffrey, clearly, was not up to the task anymore.

He would go over his Captains when he got back to the headquarters. It was time he named a successor and stepped down, because where were two exceptions, there could be more. And Priwen was not made to start gathering fucking _exceptions_.

Geoffrey silently rolled up his sleeve. Seeing the syringe in Jonathan's hand reminded him of the last time, right there in the middle of his office at the headquarters. The kiss they shared there was bright and heady and god _dammit_ Geoffrey had to clench his teeth and exhale through the nose, or else he would've made some _sound_. No, not with the old man standing nearby, watching them. It was bad enough that he already knew about them sleeping together _and_ was smart enough to tell what was going on right now. Geoffrey would _not_ give him any clues he didn't have to. It was already mortifying as it was.

"Bloody hell, this is bloody surreal," Gordon's heavy gaze was like a physical weight, pressing down on Geoffrey's shoulders.

Jonathan chuckled, glancing over to the old man before looking at Geoffrey, impish glint to his moonlight eyes. "This is quite normal compared to when Geoffrey actually _ordered_ me to bite him and drink his blood."

Oh for the love of-

"He _what_?! Geoffrey, are you a bloody idiot?!"

"It was when we raided the fire beasts, dammit!" he craned his neck to throw a murderous glare at Gordon, and hissed a little as the needle pierced his skin. "That _thing_ would've slaughtered everyone without the help of this moron, I didn't have a damn _choice_ ," Geoffrey painstakingly ignored all the memories of the bites in their dreams, all the sweet pain, all the euphoria of red colouring his tongue.

Gordon snorted. "Is that what helps you sleep at night?"

"Ugh," Geoffrey looked down at the syringe. He gritted his teeth, feeling warmth over his cheeks. Oh God.

A spike of hunger seeped through the link, making him shudder and glare daggers at Jonathan. He was mortified enough by his own reactions, he didn't need any help, dammit! At the very least the man was conscious enough to look a little ashamed, as it seemed that whatever he ate didn't sate his hunger. Idiot.

Gordon cursed under his breath and, judging by the sound, slapped a hand over his face.

As Jonathan took the needle out, Geoffrey quickly stepped back and pressed the offered piece of rolled gauze at the dot, stopping the bleeding. Thankfully, the bastard didn't try to lick anything; some part of Geoffrey was already vehemently questioning why they thought bringing Gordon was a good idea in the first place, he didn't need any additional incentive.

God, but Jonathan was beautiful when he smiled like that, barely visible curling of his pale lips, begging to be kissed and bitten. Swallowing, his throat suddenly dry as a desert, Geoffrey made himself back away even more. Considering the look Gordon was giving him, it was a good thing Geoffrey spilled almost everything to the old man back in May. And he knew this arched eyebrow; it was 'I cannot bloody believe I'm seeing this correctly, Geoffrey, are you really this dumb or are you trying to get killed?'. He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, scowling at Jonathan's back as the man prepared the slide with his blood, completely oblivious to the exchange between the hunters.

Well, mostly oblivious. Somehow, Geoffrey thought he felt a whiff of amusement from him. Bastard.

When Jonathan offered Geoffrey to look at the reaction, Geoffrey refused. For one thing, he wouldn't understand a thing, for another, that was why Gordon was here. Even after that, when doctors leaned over the microscope, watching the blood and discussing what they were seeing (or, rather, Jonathan commenting on what was going on and Gordon humming and cursing at the appropriate moments), Geoffrey still felt a little left out. Luckily, it didn't take too long.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Gordon staggered back. "Was that- _how_?"

"Alas, I do not know the reason for this. As you clearly saw, the response is not unlike an immune system fighting off an infection, but I wasn't able to single out the exact mechanism yet."

Both doctors turned to look at Geoffrey, and if Jonathan bore an expression of contemplation, Gordon looked like he'd seen a ghost. It was, actually, quite unnerving.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, what now?" Geoffrey groaned, annoyed. Maybe he should've listened to what Jonathan was telling him in the dreams after all. "I'm not dying, so what is it?"

"Exactly," Gordon said, his voice dry, "you're _not dying_." He threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture, then glanced back at the microscope, as if it could jump and bite him. "If I didn't see it with my own bloody eyes…" he shook his head. Then tensed, as a thought came to him. "Move away, Dr Reid. I want to check something for myself. _Without_ any meddling vampires breathing down my neck, thank you very much."

Miraculously, Jonathan didn't say a thing. He only arched an eyebrow and almost smiled, then went away to the fireplace, pale fingers brushing lightly over Geoffrey's forearm as he went by, making him shudder. Geoffrey barely managed to bite back a soft moan. _Not_ something he wanted the old man to hear. Ever. Why was he here, again?

While Gordon was busy with the samples, Jonathan carefully positioned himself outside of Geoffrey's grabbing distance. It would've been a good thing if the man wasn't looking at Geoffrey like he wanted to push him to the floor and slowly, painstakingly slowly take off his shirt, kissing and nipping along the way, and watch him squirm. Feeling heat high on his cheeks, Geoffrey prayed to God he was _not_ blushing, because _that_ was even worse than if they'd kissed right then and there. But God almighty, he could almost see what Jonathan was thinking about.

This bastard would definitely be the death of him.

And then Gordon cursed profusely, changed the sample and cursed some more. "Alright," he sighed and, scowling, looked at them. "It goes against everything I know about bloody leeches, but alright."

Geoffrey huffed, irritated, feeling relief as his face went back to normal. " _Speak_ already!"

Gordon looked at Jonathan, and Geoffrey saw the bastard inclining his head, taking the lead as the one most knowledgeable. "This is why I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you anything concrete," Jonathan sounded gravelly serious, as if mere seconds before he hadn't been fantasizing about fucking Geoffrey right here on the floor. And, somehow, it made it so much scarier; oh, he wasn't going to like it in the least. Jonathan continued, turning to Geoffrey and watching his reaction. "Your blood reacts strongly to vampire blood, only where normal human sample gets devoured and incorporated by the supernatural elements, yours has something akin to immunity. Your blood _resists_ the corruption, Geoffrey."

Everything in his head fell silent for a moment, shock wiping it clean like a strong rain washing blood away from the cobblestones. Then, the thoughts came back. Anger and _fear_ close behind.

" _What_? Are you fu-"

"I'm _not_ , Geoffrey," Jonathan didn't even let him finish, his eyes earnest, begging him to understand. "Believe me, I would _not_ be so cruel. Mr Gordon can attest for what he'd seen. This is _true_. But what's more important, I have found distinct features of Skal _and_ Ekon origin in your blood," Geoffrey took a sharp breath, memories starting to flutter at the back of his mind, memories he'd tried so hard to forget and remember at the same time, "both subdued and stable in contrast to their flourishing counterparts in the vampire samples. Frankly, I've never seen these features in one place _or_ in that state before."

Leech blood, already inside him? It was impossible!

Oh, how Geoffrey would've loved to claim such an argument and sincerely believe in it. But he was not an idiot; he already knew that he willingly drank a drop of Ekon blood on two separate occasions each, albeit when it happened for the first time he didn't truly know _what_ he was drinking. The second time, though? He knew _perfectly_ well. He did it anyway. And now he learned that even such a meagre amount still left a lasting mark in his blood.

Geoffrey shuddered, suppressing bloody flashes of memories. Anger and an urge to hurt something clawed from the inside, looking for a way out. He _ached_ to throw a fucking tantrum and deny everything, _longed_ to hiss curses and spit profanities, because how could a human remain human after swallowing leech blood?

Still. Here he was. A little roughened around the edges, not quite sane, but _human_.

"You're taking this more calmly than I anticipated," Jonathan said, and Geoffrey realised the man was standing in front of him, close enough to touch if he were to lift his hand. "Are you alright?"

Seeing worry clear in his eyes, Geoffrey caught himself wanting to brush his palm over Jonathan's cheek in a calming gesture, even if he himself still felt queasy, his whole world tilting on its axis. Anger seethed deep in his bones, old and bitter and red.

"Oh, I'd love nothing more than to shout and break some furniture or, better, some noses," he said, cringing, "but I had too much practice dealing with uncomfortable truths, lately."

Gordon sniffed theatrically from his perch on a table, shattering their little bubble. "Awwwww, Geoffrey, you're all grown up now. How will I cope without your stupid antics? _Oh wait_."

"Fuck you, Gordon," Geoffrey sneered at him over Jonathan's shoulder, albeit without much heat.

Jonathan _snickered_. Geoffrey looked at him incredulously, but he wasn't quite ready when this insufferable bastard cupped his face with both hands and leaned closer, predatory smile curling his lips. Geoffrey acted without much thought; he only knew that if their lips met, even Gordon's company wouldn't keep them from each other. He punched Jonathan in the solar plexus with everything he had; perhaps, it was a little more than they both had expected, because Jonathan gasped and jerked back, in a warping burst of shadows jumping to the other side of the room, all haughty and aloof, just like the toff he was. Geoffrey was ready to bet all of his ancestral Irish luck there were imps dancing behind the moon-coloured eyes. Imps and… relief.

"That was totally uncalled for," Jonathan sniffed, brushing over his stomach, straightening his waistcoat.

Gordon shook his head. "And here I thought Geoffrey was the only juvenile here," he grumbled.

"Oi! I'm thirty eight, not thirteen, dammit!"

"Really?" the old man drawled, relaxing a little. "Sometimes I can't tell the difference."

Geoffrey couldn't help the snort escaping.

It felt good, this banter. A slither of normalcy in the ever encroaching madness. And, well. It wasn't the end of the world after all, was it? Now he knew for a fact there was some shite inside his blood that no other human had; well, no other human that they knew of. Maybe this was the reason for his cravings?

Actually… now that he thought about it, it made sense. It made _so much_ sense Geoffrey couldn't help himself; he laughed. It wasn't happy, not by a long shot, but hell it was good to finally know at least _why_ he regularly wanted to lick leech blood off his sword. Now all he had to do was find the reason for his… _immunity_ and what other caveats he had to look out for.

Maybe the Brotherhood would know something? Talltree wasn't too much surprised when his cards told him _something_ all those weeks ago when Geoffrey visited him in search of information about the blasted fire beasts. God knew how Geoffrey loathed the idea of meeting the Primate one more time. Maybe he would be able to talk Jonathan into doing it in his stead? And he'd also have to sort through the books the Priwen had, _again_. Now that he knew what to look for, maybe he'd find something; after all, someone at some point in the past came up with the concoction using King Arthur's blood, so was it a stretch to assume that it was someone with a condition similar to Geoffrey's? A hunter did not simply go and decide that if he took one drop of leech's blood and diluted it in the blessed water it would make him stronger for a period of time, enough to kill a strong leech, _and_ that he'd remain human afterwards like nothing has ever happened. It _didn't work_ like that.

But… there was a good chance the book he need was actually burned during the schism.

 _Fuck_.

When had his life become so complicated? _Oh wait_. Geoffrey sighed and shook his head.

_One step at a time._

He finally let himself sit down on the sofa, relaxing into its soft touch. Gordon had settled in a chair by the worktable, looking curiously over the various contraptions Jonathan had there; something even bubbled slowly in a beaker over the low fire. It looked greenishly yellow. Several curving tubes and connected vials, the liquids moving. Geoffrey was relatively sure more than half of it was somehow connected to blood. After all, the blood _was_ Jonathan's main field of research even before he was turned. Oh, how Geoffrey laughed when he first heard about it; he actually managed to hurt Jonathan's feelings with his reaction, and the next time the Dragon came, their fight was more brutal than it normally was.

Jonathan, shedding the haughtiness like a snake its skin, now looked more like himself. In several gracious strides he closed the distance to the sofa and sat down, turning a little to look at him. "Geoffrey?"

"I'm alright, Jonathan. Just… pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked together."

"What puzzle?" Gordon asked, perking up, ignoring the way they were sitting too close to each other. The old man finally relaxed a little; not quite comfortable being in one room with a leech, but not waiting for an attack every goddamn second either.

Geoffrey thought about telling them. After all, it was part of what was going on with him, and, truth be told, the worst was out in the open already. How bad could some obsessive thoughts be compared to the fact that a leader of vampire hunters had a mental connection to, perhaps, the strongest vampire in the British Empire? _And_ was having sex with him. The fact they were both men was damning enough in the eyes of some even without the rest of the baggage.

"It's… at first, I thought I was going even more insane," Geoffrey said, slowly, concentrating on the shining tip of Jonathan's shoe (of _course_ he had them polished, it wasn't even surprising to what lengths Jonathan went to look _immaculate_ ), "then I thought it was just Jonathan's thirst leaking through. But then I realised it was as strong in Plymouth or Manchester as it was in London, so I had no choice but to accept that it couldn't have been Jonathan's doing."

"I don't like where this is going," Gordon scowled.

Geoffrey looked up at him. "Oh, you have _no_ idea," he spat, angry again. "But since the shitshow with those fire beasts I developed this… fascination for the vermin's blood." He could see the moment when Jonathan remembered their less gentle dreams: he inhaled sharply and for a split of a second Geoffrey saw the Dragon looking at him with his hellish eyes. Was it something only Geoffrey could see because of their connection, or could others do it, too?

Gordon actually looked seriously disturbed. Good God, finally the old man was starting to comprehend the scope of problems they were facing.

"If it's any consolation," Jonathan said, slowly, carefully, looking like he wanted nothing more but to hug Geoffrey; good thing he knew that if he tried something like that, Geoffrey would punch him again. "I don't think you'll actually become a vampire. Not from ingesting a small amount, anyway. The tests had clearly demonstrated your resistance; even my blood wasn't enough to-" he trailed off, eyes growing wide with a realisation.

Then, Geoffrey understood it, too.

Their fight. He remembered tasting the King's blood in the middle of it, strangely fresh and exhilarating. At the time he'd written it off to those strange feelings one often experienced in a battle. But _this_ taste? He learned it from their dreams. It was _Jonathan's_. By God, he wasn't careful enough; if he didn't have his… immunity (Geoffrey cringed even thinking the word), he would've turned that night into the very vermin he swore to eradicate.

"It doesn't explain the link," Geoffrey said, scowling. The clock chimed eleven times.

"No, it doesn't. But now, at least, we have one less question to worry about."

"Ever the optimist, huh."

Jonathan flashed him a smile. "We all have our flaws. Or have you forgotten the amount of alcohol you're intent on drinking with and without other hunters?"

"Mind your own business, _leech_ ," there wasn't much heat in Geoffrey's rebuff. It was an old argument they just couldn't settle. At times, Jonathan simply was too much a doctor, and, subsequently, too insufferable.

"Do we know anything similar? Anything at all?" Gordon turned the chair around to face them properly and settled back onto it, arms crossed over his chest, eyes intent and mouth pressed into an unhappy line.

"Nimrod," Jonathan immediately offered. "But from what I've understood, Nimrod was an Ekon or, at least, a subspecies of Ekon who was drinking only blood of other vampires. It is unclear whether he was choosing to do so whilst being perfectly capable of imbibing human blood or was he doing so because his body physically couldn't tolerate anything but vampire blood."

Geoffrey shook his head. "One problem: I'm still human myself."

"Indeed. Also, if you were wondering, I checked whether it would be possible to give your antibodies to another human. No reaction at all. You're not… contagious in any way, even if you have vampire markers in your blood."

"And thank God for _that_." 

Thankfully, no-one was stupid enough to propose the oh so obvious experiment. Although Jonathan was clearly confident in the results of his research, and even Gordon saw them and (grudgingly) agreed, willingly drinking any amount of cursed blood was a totally different thing. It was a fucking death sentence. And Geoffrey loved living too much to consider it in any seriousness. Even the urges were just… extremely distracting, they wouldn't have been enough to really make him do such a stupid thing.

Still, he didn't quite know how to react when Gordon told them that he was healing a little faster than a normal human. Before tonight, he would've joked about his Irish breed and healthy lifestyle, but now?

 _Fuck_. Sometimes he really hated his life. 

Why the hell couldn't it be simple, dammit?

  
  
  


The dreams are a kaleidoscope of pictures, memories and thoughts mashing together, spinning around, dragging Geoffrey with them. He lets them, knowing where he'll eventually end up whether he fights it or not. The dark, sharp lines of his childhood home come out of nothing, the brown wallpaper in the room making it even darker. There are some blotches of colour here and there, flowers he brought Mother every time he saw anything that would make her smile.

He's small. Of course he's small, he's a _child_ , goddammit. The world is uncomfortably large around him, the feeling of Jonathan somewhere far away. Geoffrey barely has the time to wonder whether the bloodsucker could even see this dream when arms tighten around him, clutching him closer to the thin frame wrapped in a soft peach-coloured shawl. He takes a sharp inhale, eyes burning with unshed tears.

  
Mother.

Something gurgles to their left, and when Geoffrey tries to look there, soft hand cups his head and stops him from seeing. He _knows_ he'd see Ian there, red splash over mouth and chin, scratching on the floorboards and choking on the cursed blood, dying an ugly death. Geoffrey remembers crying, begging his Father to stop.

The- the _creature_ tears him away from Mother, holding him up by his neck. Eyes, once hazel and warm like chocolate, now are yellowish ice, the whites almost completely red. It talks about strange things, smiling one second, then shouting angrily the next. Geoffrey's scratching at the hands holding him, paralysed with fear and sorrow and _anger_.

The creature with the face of his Father bites into his shoulder, and little Geoffrey _screams_ , the pain excruciating in its intensity. Then- strong, metallic taste of blood covering his tongue, making him gag and cry and feel sick, pale figure towering above, its sharp whispers about their _beautiful_ and _wonderful_ future burning in his ears, disgusting in their sickly heat.

Geoffrey can do nothing but watch as the creature does the same thing to Mother, her wail tearing Geoffrey's insides apart. He's vomiting, sharp taste of blood and bile clogging his throat.

He desperately tries to wake up, knowing what will come next, desperately wanting it to _stop_ before it's too late. Thankfully, the dream loses it's reality; the pain drops to a sharp ache of an old wound.

Jonathan wraps his arms around him, hugging from behind. "I'm so sorry, Geoffrey," he whispers brokenly.

He squeezes his eyes shut, concentrating on his breathing. The dream falls away completely, leaving them in their room; the one with the carpet lying too close to the fire. Geoffrey still can _hear_ the thing's howl of rage when it saw him and Mother clinging to each other, still human.

"The beast got what it deserved, Carl saw to it."

"It's still a trauma no human should ever experience," Jonathan is still hugging him, his voice pained and raw.

Geoffrey huffs, irritated. "And why do you think the Guard of Priwen exists? To annoy your toff arse? This is _exactly_ what I've dedicated my life to: making sure no child, parent or sibling would ever have to face this nightmare." He lets Jonathan hold him. It's not physically warm like it would've been if Jonathan were human, but it's nice nevertheless.

"Then let me help. _Please_ , Geoffrey."

He can't help the snort of laughter. When he turns around and catches Jonathan's gaze, the moon-coloured eyes are serious and a little hurt. "A leech doctor that wants to become a leech hunter?" Geoffrey drawls and smiles crookedly.

"If you're so intent on this terminology, shouldn't it be 'leech doctor-hunter'?"

"Nah, it sounds ugly. But you're busy healing sick, it wouldn't've worked out anyway. How about you just continue doing whatever you do that makes other leeches so quiet and well-behaved in London?"

"I- what?" seeing Jonathan sincerely baffled, Geoffrey cannot believe his own eyes. "I'm not… doing anything?" Can he really?..

Backing away a little because watching Jonathan's lips move from a kissable distance is starting to be too distracting and he _needs_ to finish this conversation, Geoffrey grasps his shoulders and shakes him a little.

"So, you're telling me," he says, arching his eyebrows, "that you're not destroying any leech that dares to kill a human in the city? That you've not declared it your domain by publicly opening your office here? That you're not regularly hunting for the wild beasts?"

"Well, yes, but it's not-"

"Jonathan, don't be a daft arse, I know you're smarter than this." Geoffrey can't keep a smile at the rare sight of one flustered Dr Jonathan Reid.

And then he stops fighting himself and kisses the impossible, stupid, beautiful man.

  
  
  


Perhaps, Geoffrey should've been less obvious when he stopped simply mingling with his men and started gathering their opinions about the Captains. Perhaps, he should've simply called Sanders and offered him the job. It definitely would've been easier. After all, the man was practically his right hand already, it wouldn't have been too hard to get him up to speed.

Of course, Michael would have asked for an explanation. Geoffrey would've given him one, albeit a somewhat redacted version of the truth. Most importantly, he would not have taken no for an answer when he told him about the impending change in the leadership.

Sighing, Geoffrey rubbed the bridge of his nose and eyed the three men across the table. Willow, Sanders and Vasco had cornered him this morning and refused to let him go until he told the truth. Mainly why the leech doctor was still alive, considering Geoffrey had made such an impression how no-one should touch his mark because it was on his personal list. And, also, how exactly had it learned about their previous headquarters. And why Geoffrey was allowing it to roam free without supervision. And, of course, other questions, mainly concerning Geoffrey's agenda and his plans for the Guard.

All the uncomfortable questions he needed to answer. Well, it was as good a time as any.

Seeing the Captains stand in seemingly relaxed poses at the most strategic positions, Geoffrey couldn't help the pride flare inside him. Yes, if he were in their shoes, and there were alarming signs of his commanding officer being compromised, possibly turned, he would've done the same thing. Well, he'd have taken a Chaplain with him, but… yeah, that one would've been too obvious. If he were almost convinced his commander was a leech but still needed to talk first, he'd have stationed the Chaplain somewhere nearby, in the hearing distance but out of view. In the corridor right outside the door would be a good place.

"Willow, open the bloody window already and stop twitching like you're having bloody spasms," Geoffrey said and snorted at the face Jake made. The man still had so much to learn about hiding his intentions it was funny and pitiful at the same time. "No, you're not stealthy about the whole matter at all. Any of you, for that matter." He looked at each of them, keeping his gaze calm and steady. At the very least, he didn't have to worry about sunlight, thank God. "Let's get the question of my humanity out of the way and move onto the next one."

Sanders nodded, smirking grimly. "I told them you'd see right through this plan. They insisted on subtlety. Idiots." As he was saying it, Willow pulled the curtains away, letting the golden light into the room.

Geoffrey closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the rare warmth.

"So. Now that that's all sorted- tell us what the hell is going on with the leech doctor." Vasco said in a mild, conversational tone. He had all his weapons on him, so Geoffrey wasn't fooled. If needed, Vasco was quick and ruthless enough to do what he thought was necessary, and he came here obviously ready for it. Priwen needed men like him; damn, _Geoffrey_ needed men like him. And right now, seeing him comfortable in the morning rays, Vasco allowed himself to relax a fraction.

An easy mistake to make when one didn't know what Geoffrey knew now and lived through what had happened to him.

Well. At least they had waited for the breakfast to end; many of them couldn't function properly without a cup of coffee or tea, Geoffrey being one of them. Small mercies.

Sighing again, he gathered his thoughts into a roughly chronological order and went on explaining how he'd found himself with the damn nightmares, and how they had slowly morphed into the training grounds, perfect for honing his hunting skills. How he learned his dreams were linked to a certain leech, and how it changed him. He told them about his strange immunity, too, skirting around the sex and his feelings for Jonathan, because _those_ were personal. Knowing he didn't actually hate Jonathan was plenty enough for these three.

Hell, it was already dangerous to tell them about the link and the fact that almost every night he and the leech could interact with each other. _Influence_ each other. And, considering how powerful a leech Jonathan really was (at least half of the Priwen saw firsthand how quickly he learned to _obliterate_ crazy Skals and other beasts), it wasn't a stretch to think that _he_ would be the one influencing Geoffrey, not the other way around.

"So," Sanders said, rubbing at his temple as if fighting a headache, "basically, it's like you're the leech doctor's spawn, only you're still human."

"I'm _not_ his bloody spawn!" Geoffrey growled, disgusted by the idea. He had feelings for the man, yes, but it didn't mean that he wanted to become his Progeny. "But… I _have_ changed, yes."

 _Everybody_ tensed at those words.

"And now we're back to square one, for Christ's sake," Willow said, complain clear in his voice.

Vasco shook his head. "I believe him, Jake. I'm not completely convinced, but I believe you, Geoffrey." Their eyes met. "You're still a hunter, even if that leech doctor managed to get under your skin."

"What are you planning to do now?" Sanders asked.

Geoffrey couldn't help a short laugh escaping. "Actually, Michael, I was in the middle of dragging you here and making you the leader of Priwen instead of me."

And _that_ roused a bout of unexpectedly vehement protests. Even after everything he told them, after everything that led them here in the first place. How daft could they _be_?

The next hour or so they'd spent arguing about him stepping down, and it might've been amusing, the way these three were _defending_ him when they should've been the first to cheer about his departure. It was painful, seeing this amount of faith and knowing that he wasn't worthy of it anymore. He'd stepped over too many lines. He'd fallen far too low. Why couldn't they _see_ that? He was a _threat_ to Priwen, now! But no, no, of course they _had_ to drag his immunity into it, use it as an argument, rub it into his face. Like he was fucking _meant_ to lead the Guard of Priwen.

Several times Willow and Sanders had to pull him and Vasco apart, curses flying and hurting, burning to kick each other's arses. Things got especially heated when, fed up with the stubbornness of his Captains, Geoffrey blurted out the main reason why they mustn't trust him with Priwen anymore. That he and Jonathan were in a relationship. At first, Sanders even thought Geoffrey lied, using his knowledge of their opinions about this kind of abomination to completely alienate them and get what he wanted. They even dragged Archer into this, for God's sake.

Somehow, the idiots came to the conclusion it was all Reid's fault, at the same time still believing Geoffrey was strong enough to resist the leech's influence. How exactly both things were possible at the same time wasn't clear; suffice it to say, the argument turned very ugly. And loud. So loud, in fact, that Chaplain McCail opened the door and looked inside. _And_ what he saw was bad enough that he actually decided to fetch Gordon to calm them down instead of trying to do it himself.

Oh, Geoffrey just _knew_ it was going to explode spectacularly right into his face. It meant the world to him that these men thought so highly of him, but damn it all to seven hells, why couldn't they _see_?!

Because after hurtling so many curses at his own men, seeing their clenched fists and angry sneers, Geoffrey unexpectedly came to another uncomfortable realisation.

He didn't _want_ Jonathan dead. Maybe even if he became the Dragon in the waking world, too, and wasn't this thought awful enough? Dammit, it was he who was slipping, not Jonathan. And the most terrifying thing was: neither one of these men would be able to help. If they refused to let him stand down now? It would only get more complicated in the future.

  
  
  


When he falls asleep, he's still angry; he dives right into the nightmare. The Dragon joins him almost immediately, smile sharp and wolfish, eager to taste pain and blood.

They dance among the dead empty houses, rubble and blackened furniture making it hard to move, demanding attention Geoffrey can't really afford. He's good, but he's not good enough to not give his all to this fight. The Dragon corners him, growling almost inaudibly, and lunges forward. Normally, Geoffrey ducks, rolling to the side, and sinks a stake into the Dragon's throat or shoulder before backing away and waiting for another opening.

Now, he lets out a similar growl and meets the leech in the middle. His own fangs suddenly sharp and aching, Geoffrey does what he'd never done inside these nightmares: he bites the Dragon and hungrily gulps his blood. The ecstasy is… immediate. Geoffrey moans, throwing his head back, forgetting who he's dealing with; the high is too bright, pleasure coursing through his body like a slow lightning.

Sharp pain of the bite on his own neck makes his breath hitch. The moan turns into a groan, and he's grinding his crotch into the Dragon before he can think about it. The tightness is maddening, and Geoffrey has a moment of terrified clarity ( _he's going to lose again!_ ) before the Dragon suddenly stops drinking his blood and starts _nipping_ down his throat. The stiffness in his fancy trousers evidence enough to his intentions.

Cold hands are painfully familiar, the hard touch, not so much. The Dragon doesn't care how much pain he inflicts; Geoffrey growls when he feels claws sinking into his coat and sides, drawing blood. He bites into the pale throat one more time, blindly taking the revolver out of its holster, and barely manages to hold onto the weapon; the bliss flows into him on the red wave, blinding. Sharp pain mirrors it, the claws ripping at his sides, going deeper.

Geoffrey cries out, shudders, and lifts the revolver to the Dragon's head. He is too busy licking the blood off his chest, he doesn't react in time. The shot is deafening; the greyish mass wetly splatters onto Geoffrey's shoulder and the floor to the side. With a roar, the Dragon rips into him with claws and fangs.

The nightmare sinks into blackness.

  
  
  


The tension between him and the Captains was so obvious others noticed it, too, but were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Vasco was especially acerbic, but he kept his word to think about Geoffrey's confessions before doing anything. Sanders, actually, was the first one to gruffly say he was sorry for what happened to Geoffrey. He still refused to take his position, bastard.

Geoffrey knew they were plotting something. Judging by the way they glanced at him from time to time, it wasn't hard to theorise what was on their minds. It seemed that they were thinking about ways to… _help_ Geoffrey. If he were in their situation, he would've decided to kill the leech responsible, naturally assuming that every emotion the person in question demonstrated being only the result of the unnatural link between them and the leech. He actually felt a stab of pain every time he considered this possibility, and every time it spurred him into sifting through his emotions; the scariest thing was, he could trace back the exact path his thoughts and feelings took over the last half a year.

Fuck, if it came down to fighting between them and Jonathan… Geoffrey did _not_ want to make this choice. Well, he knew Jonathan was strong and competent enough to take down several hunters without killing them, but Sanders and Vasco had much, _much_ more experience under their belts. They wouldn't leave anything to chance.

The worst thing was, Geoffrey couldn't just go and order them not to kill Jonathan. For starters, it went wholly against the Priwen's purpose (temporary alliances in the face of worse enemies aside), and, frankly, the Captains would've simply ignored him, deciding it was the leech's influence talking. But _also_ he couldn't tell _Jonathan_ about the impending ambush. Well, perhaps he could've, but the mere idea of explicitly warning a leech about his hunters turned his stomach. Even if said leech was Jonathan.

Geoffrey wasn't entirely sure what to think about this little fact; should he be happy that he was still a hunter first and foremost, just like Vasco mentioned the other morning?

Sighing, he returned to leafing through yet another old journal they had in the vault and tried to concentrate on the archaic English.

  
  
  


He's sitting on top of the hill, the cool grass tickling his palms, warm breeze washing over his skin. Gentle sun hanging in the blue sky, the valley before him quiet, sleepy. He likes to come here; it helps him think.

Soft rustle of fabric announces Jonathan's arrival. "Why are your hunters spying on me again?" He sits down beside Geoffrey, just out of touch.

"The Captains stationed in the city know about us," he says, looking at the clouds, serene and fluffy in the blue sky. "I tried making Sanders take my position, but he refused, and the others didn't want to hear anything about me standing down."

"Oh, wonderful," a short pause. "Am I correct to assume they think me responsible for everything and want to free you from my influence by killing me?"

"You are." Geoffrey snorts. It's not that hard to come to this conclusion.

They sit in silence for some time. At some point Geoffrey even thinks they're gonna spend this dream in wordless company when Jonathan clears his throat.

"I've received a strange letter tonight," he says. "Apparently, the Druid Order wishes to speak with me."

"Who are they?"

"I only know that they are a group of Ekons and, probably, other vampire species, operating in Scotland and worshipping pagan gods. Maybe even the Red Queen. Lord Redgrave certainly considers them disgusting heretics deserving only of painful deaths."

Geoffrey nods. "Yeah, I've heard about suspicious rituals in the North. Carl continued to send scouts there on a regular basis, but there wasn't much information to be found. The bastards know the land too well to hunt them down in the wild. It's these Druids?" when he wakes up, he'll look up who's hunting in Scotland right now.

"It's quite possible."

"So. What do they want to discuss with you?"

"I wish I knew. The letter was vague enough, leaving without a doubt only the place and time of the meeting."

"Ambush?"

"It would be unnecessarily complicated," Jonathan doesn't sound entirely sure, and Geoffrey can relate to that. When it comes to the leeches, no machination is too long or convoluted.

He finally looks at Jonathan. "If you want to hear what they have to say, don't tell me where or when it's going to be, because the moment I learn about it, I'm going there and killing the bastards."

Jonathan chuckles. "I understand."

Geoffrey ignores the strange softness of the pale blue.

They don't talk after that, instead watching the sun slowly roll across the sky, each deep in his own thoughts.

  
  
  


It wasn't even that hard, working with the men who Geoffrey _knew_ were planning on trying to kill his… kill Jonathan. Yes, the tension was so dense it was almost choking them all, especially if Vasco got some time alone to stew, but they obeyed their orders and the patrols were going on schedule.

Geoffrey wired to the outpost in Glasgow and requested a full update from the hunting teams there, but it would take time to compile, so Geoffrey settled to wait; it could very well stretch into a week if there were a lot of documents they needed to send over. Still, it was very disturbing to learn that some unknown group was organised and operating right under their noses. While dealing with the fire beasts and the wounded and the hunting he didn't have an opportunity to really notice it, but now?

What if… what if it was some kind of a sick experiment?

Cold shiver rolled down his spine as Geoffrey went along with this idea. If it was an experiment, then, perhaps, the fire beasts were just some poor bastards who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? What Talltree deigned to tell about them certainly looked in favor of this theory. Then, the main goal of the cult was… that creature from the stone boulder? To revive it, definitely. Like… like bloody bees, gathering pollen and making honey for the queen, minimal self-awareness, no survival instincts.

Ugh, it was awfully lucky Jonathan was there, because without a powerful leech on their side they would've died in there. Well, if they had time and knowledge to prepare beforehand, scout the tunnels and make traps, as well as take the generators and UV-lamps along, _then_ they would've had a chance. Considering all that, Geoffrey couldn't help but see how the whole situation with the fire beats revolved around Jonathan. How his presence there was _crucial_. Yes, sure, it was Priwen that hunted remaining cultists and made sure London was safe once more, but in that dungeon? It was all about Jonathan.

But what if it was only a part of a bigger and more sinister plot? Who exactly was behind it? What was their goals? _Test_ Jonathan? Kill him? Continue the work of the Spanish flu and kill as much humans as possible? What if next time they would unleash this curse on a city without such strong Priwen presence? _Can_ they unleash another ancient monster?

Growling under his breath, Geoffrey rubbed at his face; how much simpler it was when it was only vermin and beasts and all he had to do was hunt them down, smoke out of their lairs and chop off their heads. No mulling over what leech was doing what and creating what groups, no tearing himself in halves because one sneaky bastard managed to worm under his armor and stick like a thorn in his side. Sometimes Geoffrey _really_ missed those good old times, especially when Carl was still alive and leading Priwen. It was comfortably black and white, no need to overthink; just _kill the bastards before they tear out your jugular_.

Shaking off the unwelcome thoughts, Geoffrey concentrated back on the streets; they were dangerous enough without him getting lost in his own mind. Granted, this little investigation should be simple and straightforward, but it never hurt to be cautious and vigilant, especially in their line of work. And the report they were following up on wasn't too strange, just another possible Skal locked up in a room; it clearly wasn't anything to attract his personal involvement, but Geoffrey _needed_ to get out. If he had to speak to Vasco one more time, he would've broken his nose, dammit; the man was becoming completely intolerable.

The three men on the patrol weren't the most seasoned hunters, but experienced enough not to be a burden and able to kill a leech or two on their own. Of course, Geoffrey didn't think it was a coincidence that they were all from Vasco's team, but oh, well. They were Priwen, and right now Geoffrey was their leader.

Anyway, this situation couldn't go on for long. He was not ready to spend the rest of his life precariously balancing between his angry Captains and Jonathan. Sooner or later, someone would make a mistake, and everything would tumble down in flames. When he got back to headquarters, he'll start making preparations for his departure. It was always better to prepare for the worst.

It was a quiet, cold, long walk. They could've taken the car, especially now that it was late enough for the roads to be actually passable, but Geoffrey really wanted the time to clear his head. And, well, he actually liked being out on the streets in the dead of the night.

They walked silently, weapons close but hidden from view, watching the road and the alleys and listening to the sounds of the sleeping city. They were prepared for a fight, but nothing happened. And it was a good thing, but God, Geoffrey was itching for an opportunity to release some steam.

As they walked up to the house mentioned in the report Geoffrey stopped and looked, trying to grasp what exactly his guts were trying to tell him. The house itself wasn't anything special, just one of many in this part of town, two storeys high, red brick, windows intact and dark. Still, something itched at the back of his head. Something felt… _off_.

"Boss?" his men knew enough to recognise his alert, so they instantly fell into the familiar motion of watching everything around their group, weapons ready.

The report mentioned strange noises and howling; apparently, someone from Priwen was living in the neighbourhood and was the one to mention it. This report wasn't the first of its kind or even remotely suspicious amidst others like it, and yet… _something was wrong here_. Then, it hit Geoffrey. So painfully obvious he had to question his awareness.

There were no sounds coming out of the house. If someone living nearby heard and got alarmed, then they, standing right in front of it in the middle of the night, should hear something, too.

Dead silence was pressing on his ears like a physical weight.

Geoffrey checked his crossbow and readied the electric torch; not his most favourite combination, but it would definitely be narrow inside, and his sword was not made for small spaces. Silently signalling his men to get ready and follow, Geoffrey walked to the front door. Before he had the chance to push it he saw it was ajar. Not good.

Carefully listening for anything, they went inside. With the curtains covering all the windows, it got too dark for them, so they had to light their torches before going any further. No signs of struggle, no blood, no broken furniture. No scratches. Leaving two men to watch the door and the stairs, Geoffrey took O'Mara with him to check the rooms above. They didn't find anyone; the bed was ruffled, the sheets thrown haphazardly, the wardrobe open, some clothes lying on the floor. The second room, on the contrary, was as orderly as if the tenants just walked out for a moment, fully intending to return. Someone had been clearly living here not too long ago.

Now, there were no blood and no bodies, only some signs of minor trouble in the bedroom.

Geoffrey was sure by now that they were being watched, and he hated this slimy feeling. At the same time, _finally_ a leech to kill. He just had to find it, first. The only problem was, this leech was obviously cunning enough to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike; never a good enemy to fight in the close quarters of a house, not with so little men at his disposal. They simply wouldn't be able to cover all the exits.

The silence was starting to feel foreboding.

The descent back to the ground floor was as cautious as the ascent, and Geoffrey relaxed for a fraction when he saw Moore and Bletchley on alert at the bottom of the stairs, constantly swathing the room with the light from the torches. It was never a good idea to split up, but it was either that or leaving the whole floor unsupervised. Although Geoffrey was starting to think it was no use anyway. The feeling of a gaze was as present as ever, cold like a snake coiling around his throat.

With a few gestures, Geoffrey ordered them all to follow as he went to the back of the house. O'Mara was the second to step into the kitchen, and they cursed in unison as the light from his torch landed at the back door. It was boarded up, the wood looking old and discoloured, with holes from other nails, as if the boards were gathered from all over and repurposed. It was hasty, a glaringly short-term solution, not intended to withstand any amount of force.

No scratch marks here either. It was too weak to keep any leech inside.

It was an ambush. Oh God, they walked right into it.

They needed to get out. _Now_.

The Ekon was standing in the same spot Moore had been in, arms crossed over its chest, head angled to the side, birdlike. It was wearing a strange wreath with something like little horns protruding out of it. The air of smugness was hanging around it like a heavy cloak, and Geoffrey hated to even think the beast had any reason to feel so.

He shot only a split second after he fully registered what he was seeing. The beast shadow-jumped to the side, landing in a half-crouch, letting its arms fall down. Then, a fight broke out behind Geoffrey, and he barely caught himself before turning his back to the first enemy. He jerked to the side and pressed his back to the wall, hearing Moore cry out and shoot, O'Mara seconding him. Geoffrey almost managed to fish out the orichalcum grenade when he felt the familiar pressure of freezing blood in his veins, too sudden and _strong_ for him to shake it off. Out of a corner of his eye he could see Bletchley tumbling down like a doll with its strings cut.

 _Damn it_!

Growling, Geoffrey strained against the alien will keeping him in place; it was agonisingly slow and he didn't have enough time to break free.

"Now, now, Mr McCullum," the leech with a wreath purred, coming closer and stopping in front of him. The beam of light from Geoffrey's torch was angled to the floor, casting dramatic shadows at everything above waist, but even in this lighting he could see the reddish eyes of the leech. It had no qualms against feasting on a human once in a while. _Beast_. "We wouldn't want anything… untoward happening to you, now would we." The leech gestured to his accomplice, something about lifting something up. Or was it accomplices? Geoffrey couldn't make out anyone at all, frozen in a painful vice of the bloody magic with his head turned forward.

He could only growl, unable to form coherent words yet. When the grip on his mind loosened just a bit, he didn't get any chance to cheer his progress because the leech instantly felt it, tsked and waved a hand. Geoffrey's head _pounded_ from the renewed pressure, eyes ready to pop out.

Ugh, he _hated_ it when they did this.

"Oh, don't be like that, we're not _animals_ after all. Your men are alive, albeit unconscious at the moment." Red haze of rage flooded his vision, hot and burning hate bubbling in his veins. Fucking _beasts_ , playing with their prey. Skals during the epidemic were at least sincere in their desire to kill and devour. Oh, Geoffrey would _love_ to squeeze the life out of this vermin.

The leech hummed, sharp smile tugging at its lips, dangerous light in its eyes. "Don't misunderstand me, I love your passion, but it is totally unnecessary. No harm will come to your men, Mr McCullum," it wasn't trying to hide its fangs. "We need only you."

Rage and dread fought inside him. After knowing the Dragon for so long, he could imagine in great details what an Ekon could do to a human and keep it alive.

"You see, we _watched_ you. You and your hunters," the beast got distracted for a moment, walking back into the room and taking a coil of rope from a chair. _Fuck_ , this was _bad_. The leech dramatically turned around, holding the rope like it was something precious. It was thick enough to hold a grown man. "And imagine our surprise when we also learned that a leader of moonblood hunters was on speaking terms with a strong moonblood. It… _demanded_ our attention."

As disgusting as it was to admit, but Geoffrey was fucking _helpless_ when two other leeches checked his pockets and took away all his weapons, even the knives from his boots. He only had a moment of weakening paralisis before the wreath-wearer cast another one.

 _Goddammit he was so fucked_.

Something deep in his guts twinged unpleasantly; Geoffrey refused to think it was despair, but it was growing with each passing moment, eating away the rage and the anger.

Then the leeches took the rope, and Geoffrey fought them every inch of the way, especially when the paralisis wore off; the cold hands were hard and cruel, and the beasts took great pleasure in beating him. As the rope looped around his neck, the bastards pulled it too tight, nearly choking him into unconsciousness. If the wreath-wearer didn't order them to loosen it up, Geoffrey would've gone under. As he tried to catch his breath and not cough too much, the bastards tied his arms behind his back, angling them painfully high and, judging by the resulting pull, connecting the loops around the wrists to the one around his neck. When they hauled him towards the chair, Geoffrey finally managed to see his men. They were lying on the floor, all tied up, too.

Sitting was unpleasant in so many ways, and Geoffrey had too much pleasure in kicking one of the beasts in the stomach, _hard_ , before they had an opportunity to bind his legs to the chair. It was impossible to find even relatively comfortably position, tied as he was, and his shoulders were already screaming in pain, not to mention various bruises starting to form all over him. Geoffrey growled, grinding his teeth and checking the knots. It was hard to breathe, but doable.

Well, at least he got distracted from the first sprouts of fear; he was too angry for that, now.

"Now, where were we?" the wreath-wearer sat down on a couch in front of him, watching intently as his accomplices finished the knots at the back of Geoffrey's chair. "Ah, our dear Jonathan Reid." Cold eyes snapped to Geoffrey.

He sneered. "What do you want from me, leech?" too much trouble for someone they wanted to kill. And torture wasn't on the menu, too, if he judged this leech correctly.

"I want you to _listen_ , hunter. Or are you not curious about your blood?"

"Not enough to hear you talk about it," Geoffrey spat, straining against the ropes.

"But you should be, Mr McCullum!" it exclaimed, gesticulating in a clearly rehearsed way. It was used to public speeches. "For we know you are… immune. We know you drank the blood of King Arthur, and we saw the effects it had on you. It made you _stronger_. I bet it felt delicious," the leech licked its lips, smile predatory and dangerous.

Geoffrey snarled, not quite sure how to react to this. He never even considered the fact that other leeches might get interested in him, or, scratch that, might even learn about it. _How_ ? Did Jonathan tell them? No, the man would definitely consider it a break of his confidentiality as a patient, he's too doctor to think otherwise. Then, if not Jonathan, then _who_?

Wait a second, the leech said they _saw_ the effects?

They were present during the fight with the fire beasts?! By God, Geoffrey was _right_ , the poor bastards were just victims in the games of other leeches. When he got out of this, he'd make sure Priwen hunted down every last one of these bastards. The Druid Order, no doubt; the wreath was too specific for this leech to belong to any other organisation. Not that there weren't any. Priwen would have to destroy those, too.

The leech leaned back, crossed its legs in a graceful gesture of pure confidence. Oh, Geoffrey already hated its guts, he really didn't need any more incentive, and it, behaving like a toff, was rubbing him in all the wrong places.

"You see, we are in a somewhat bizarre situation. Normally, we would never knowingly make our enemy stronger, but the existence of Mr Reid changed a lot of our plans. Did he tell you anything about his Maker?" the leech waited for half a second, not even giving Geoffrey a chance to consider an answer. "Nevermind, you mortals tend to twist the information anyways. His Maker is known as the Horned Vampire. He's one of the three sons of the Red Queen, and he Sired the most Childes out of them three." The light wasn't coming this way, what with the torch lying far behind Geoffrey, but he would bet anything the leech had one of those 'I'm-so-smart-and-I-love-myself' faces, Geoffrey spoke to enough toffs to recognise these intonations in an instant. Oh, this leech wasn't walking out of this house _alive_. "Previously, he was more careful with his gift; I cannot claim to know what he knew when making Mr Reid his Progeny, but we watched Mr Reid and the choices he made. The conclusions are unsettling, Mr McCullum," the leech leaned forward, completely serious now, not a sign of the previous smugness around him, and the change felt all the more important because of its swiftness. "He is a Dragon in the making."

Geoffrey reeled back, fighting to find a rebuke, instantly placing too much weight on his arms and pulling at the loop around his neck. He jerked forward into the uncomfortable balance, tense like a bowstring, thoughts flying around in his head, dark and unpleasant. He actually knew who Jonathan's Maker was (he also knew the creature claimed it was called Myrddin Willt, and _that_ was entirely new can of worms waiting to be opened), and the leech didn't tell anything too unexpected or shocking. Geoffrey clenched his teeth; something deep inside him already knew the bastard wasn't completely wrong about Jonathan. For if Jonathan was as good as he claimed he was, then what was the Dragon doing in their dreams? Was it a figment of Geoffrey's imagination that infected Jonathan's own thoughts to the point that it became a part of them both? Geoffrey _knew_ how hard it was for Jonathan to remain so… civil and humane, he _knew_ how freeing it was for Jonathan to let go even if only in their dreams. But was it really necessary for him to turn into the Dragon in the nightmares?

"This is where you come in," making a pause to drag his attention back from his mind and make sure he was listening again, the leech continued: "Being a paleblood, you have the sacred duty of keeping the balance, just like the others before you did. And if you stop limiting yourself, you can even become Mr Reid's equal by the time he falls."

" _What?_ "

The leech actually _laughed_. "Yes, can you imagine? A moonblood Order, wanting a paleblood hunter to become so powerful he'd be able to singlehandedly kill the Progeny of the Red Son!" the glee in its voice sounded a little hysterical, actually.

"What is this machination?" Geoffrey didn't like it in the least where this was all going.

For he knew only of one way for him to get stronger. But… they wouldn't, would they? It was madness!

Cold hatred replaced the rage, allowing the fear to grow once more.

The leech laughed again. "This was almost the exact same question I asked when I was told of this plan, actually. And no, to answer the question in your gaze, your death is not what we want, Mr McCullum. You have _no_ idea how much I would've loved to say that we don't need your assistance, but, alas. Our old friends are… indisposed for the foreseeable future, and we always were more scholars than fighters ourselves." The bastard took out a watch and looked at it. "Ah, the time flies by so quickly these nights. We simply _must_ move on to the next item in our schedule, we still have so much to do," the leech stood up and moved to stand right in front of Geoffrey, making him lift up his head.

If it weren't so painful to place any amount of weight onto his hands, Geoffrey would've moved as far back as he could without losing his balance. Nauseating fear roared ever louder in his head. They wouldn't!

For a second, right hand of the leech turned into a paw with sharp and long claws, bloody and wickedly ragged; the beast slashed them across its other palm, almost cutting it in half, and although it must've hurt like hell it didn't even _flinch_. Geoffrey fought with everything he had, inevitably succumbing to sheer _panic_ , jerking his head away and kicking, growling and buckling and twisting as far back as his body would go, ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulders because it was so much more important to get _away_ and-

Cold hands clutched his head from behind and turned forward, fixing in place. Several drops from the wound fell onto his trousers. The leech was frowning, sneering, it tugged at the rope around his throat, pulling him closer, and Geoffrey only had a second to inhale before bloody palm pressed to his mouth. It was burning him, he writhed, but the sharp pain did nothing to help him it was the end nono _nononostopdon'tdothisnoKILLME_

They made him open his mouth.

The taste, strong and metallic, flooded him, red covering his tongue and throat, making him gag. He was cursing and wriggling and growling and falling, his shoulder exploding in a blinding agony, his lips burning, his throat melting, the fire sliding _deeper_. He was coughing, trying to breathe but it _hurt_ , it hurt so much _please don't_

He'd rather _die_ than become a leech!

_'Father, please, stop!'_

The fire was eating him whole.

  
  
  


Complete darkness surrounds him, and he's in freefall, there's nothing he can hold on to, his world is dissolving in the dark.

He's trying to scream, but there's something in his throat. He can't _breathe_.

  
  
  


"Here," someone helped him roll onto his side, arms burning with returning blood, head ready to explode.

And he still. Couldn't. _Breathe_.

Despite him wanting to die but _not_ become a leech, _suffocating_ he would rather avoid. God damn it, why couldn't he breathe?! It was like having something stuffed in his very _lungs_ , the air there but not giving anything, and his heart was… it was pounding like crazy, and he felt sick, oh he was so _sick_ , he-

Before he knew it, he was retching metallic brown stuff, not liquid enough to be water, not viscous enough to be anything, and it. was. simply. _disgusting_. The next spasm hit him even harder than the first one, the acrid smell of vomit adding to the overall repulsiveness. He barely caught himself before inhaling; it would've definitely sent him into another retching fit, and the puddle was already too big for his liking.

Gathering his strength, Geoffrey dragged himself away, scrambling to stand up; he felt weak and feverish, hatred and desire to _kill the bastards_ almost the only things keeping him from falling face first to the floor. As he got to all fours his head started spinning wildly, forcing him to stop and carefully _breathe_. Geoffrey tentatively looked around; the pieces of the chair he was sitting on were scattered nearby, broken to the point it was easier to throw them away rather than repair. The ropes were there, too, sliced in several places. Apparently, they were no longer needed when Geoffrey got dosed with the-

He jerked upright, still standing on his knees, one hand pressed to his mouth, the other clawing at his throat, his gaze glued to the dark pool.

What the _hell_?

How- Was he still-

His heart was beating, _pounding_ in his ears, and he still felt the same, no fangs or monochrome vision he experienced in the dreams.

He was still human.

And the very same thing happened when he was a child, didn't it? The creature gave him its blood, too. And it, too, didn't work. And he felt sick then, too.

"My God…" the weakness was almost overwhelming, especially now that his body decided he wasn't in any immediate danger despite the leeches present. His muscles twinged here and there, ghostly memories of the burning agony washing over him. Nausea gripped him again, and Geoffrey dry-heaved and fell back to all fours, spitting out the awful aftertaste.

A flare of _worryangerwhathappenedGeoffreyholdonkillthemall_ blinded him, making the room spin violently for a moment. _Jonathan_ ? He… he was not very far away, and _quickly coming closer_.

"See?" even more insufferable now, the leech looked positively glowing with smugness; it spread its arms, as if demonstrating something. "You won't become a moonblood, ever. So stop worrying about it and-" it didn't get to finish. The window _exploded_ in a shower of shards, inky shadows instantly pooling under the beast's feet and turning into sharp spikes, impaling it. With a gurgle of blood it shadow-jumped to the side- right into Jonathan, who caught it with his claws and fangs, growling so deeply Geoffrey more felt than heard it. Growling like an animal.

The second leech was standing to the left from Geoffrey, and it clearly was not prepared to face another Ekon tonight. As it finally unfroze and turned to run Jonathan caught it in a paralisis, and it was strangely gratifying to watch the vermin's blood painfully seep out through its skin and rush towards the caster. Geoffrey, still feeling disgustingly weak and unsteady, crawled to his torch and, leaning almost all his weight against the wall, finally managed to stand up. By that time Jonathan was already tearing out the throat of the third leech, the one that was standing over Geoffrey's men.

All fell silent. The bloodless corpse of a leech crumbled to the floor beside the unconscious hunters, and Jonathan made a tentative step towards Geoffrey.

"Are you alright?" Jonathan's voice was… rough, the deep rumble hiding beneath each word.

Armed with the torch, Geoffrey could see in all the gory details _what_ Jonathan did to the wreath-wearer; its body was _torn to shreds_ , literally, leaving a bloody _carnage_. Other leeches were only better because Jonathan mainly used them as blood sacks. And he himself looked… wild. Dishevelled, with blood splatters all over his face and clothes, hands and mouth completely _red_ and glistening in the light. But most disturbing were Jonathan's eyes. They had a crimson hue to them. Or was the light playing tricks with Geoffrey again?

Jonathan hissed and immediately lifted a hand to shield his eyes when Geoffrey directed the light into his face, but the colour was quite distinct. _Red_ irises.

"Geoffrey?"

 _Oh my God, the bastards were_ right _._

But he suspected as much already, didn't he. There would come a time when Jonathan _will_ become the Dragon. The same one Geoffrey knew so well thanks to their shared dreams. He also knew with perfect clarity he could _not_ allow it to roam in the waking world. And yes, he knew this already, too, but it was one thing to know, and completely another to _know it in his very soul_. Groaning, Geoffrey leaned his head back against the wall, letting the torch fall from his unresponsive fingers. His head was spinning, his legs barely holding his weight, his heart tearing and pounding like a bear in a cage, desperate to get out. Each breath was a struggle. Why was he feeling so damn weak? He should be _strong_ , dammit, wasn't it the whole reason behind this glorious shitshow?

Jonathan was in front of him in an instant, the flecks of shadows flowing off him like water, hellish hue melting into the familiar color of moonlight. But Geoffrey _saw_ … and, he should be honest with himself now, it wasn't the first time, either. Dreadful knowledge coiled inside his stomach, sinking its fangs even deeper, digging into his spine. He knew what he would have to do. And it _hurt_ , dammit, it hurt so _much_.

Oh, how desperately he was wishing now he'd never tasted that drop of Jonathan's blood. He'd have been his old self still, and he wouldn't have seen any problem in the fact that he'd have to kill another leech even after it showed him mercy and rescued the whole city from an ancient menace, helping every poor soul it met on its journey, giving medicine for free and killing crazed leeches.

 _Dammit_.

How did it happen, for Christ's sake. _How_ had he managed to fall for this man so deeply and irrevocably?

"Geof-" clearly seeing _something_ in his face, Jonathan lifted his hands to cup Geoffrey's cheeks; hands, still red from killing the leech, the blood undoubtedly cold and sticky. Jonathan froze as he noticed them.

Not giving him a chance to back away, Geoffrey growled under his breath and hugged the man as tightly as he could, pressing his nose behind the pale ear, feeling cool skin against his own. And if anyone asked, he trembled from feeling the strength finally surging through his body and singing in his veins, nothing else.

"You're a bastard, Jonathan," his throat felt raw, as if he was screaming for the past several hours.

A soft puff of air washed over his ear. "Well, you're not a saint, either," cool, strong arms closed around Geoffrey, staining his coat with red. He didn't give a damn, pressing closer. "When I heard you I-" Jonathan's voice got so thick he couldn't say another word.

"Yeah."

Inhaling deeply and letting the familiar smell soothe his sparkling nerves, Geoffrey reluctantly pushed the man back. The slow wave of power got higher still, and it started to buzz, urging him to _do_ something, to learn his new limits, to _fight_.

Then, Jonathan's gaze fell to Geoffrey's mouth. He knew there was still some blood smeared over the lower half of his face, what with wiping it off not really being a priority for the past five minutes or so; he saw the moment the realisation hit Jonathan, and how his pupils turned to tiny dots for a split second, rage making his face even sharper, deep growl rumbling inside his chest.

"They _dared_ to-" and right now Jonathan sounded so _much_ like the Dragon that Geoffrey couldn't suppress the cold shudder. Disgust, despair, hope, fucking _love_ and resolution and bitterness and so much more Geoffrey didn't have enough words to name all this chaos swirling inside, half his emotions, half Jonathan's.

Oh God, what were they _doing_?

Swallowing the guilt and the foreboding, Geoffrey glanced at his men. They were starting to stir; soon, they'd wake.

"Were there other leeches here?"

"Not that I could see, no," Jonathan stepped back even further, found some cloth and busied himself with cleaning his hands and face, all the while closely watching Geoffrey, as if he could fall any second. Jonathan moved a little stiffly, and Geoffrey thought he felt unease and guilt coming through the link from the man. "How are you feeling?"

So many possible answers to this seemingly simple question. So many different words Geoffrey could give voice to, giving form to so many different aspects of what he was experiencing right now. But, most importantly, he felt...

"Alive." He'd think about all that had happened here later; right now, he needed to get his men to safety, and fill a report and tell his Captains about the change of plans. "Have you ever heard a word 'paleblood'?"

"Just tonight the Druid mentioned it at our meeting, actually. I didn't get the chance to ask him what it meant because I heard your distress. What is it?" His polite voice clashed with bloodied clothes, and in that moment Jonathan looked much more like other bloodthirsty leeches than himself.

Geoffrey sneered. "If that piece of shit is to be believed," he jerked his chin towards the pile of torn body parts, "it's some sort of human with immunity. It's me, Jonathan."

"That… explains quite a lot, actually," it was obvious Jonathan was thinking about something specific. Maybe yet another old document he managed to acquire during his roamings around the city. He didn't look at what he'd done to the leech.

O'Mara groaned, trying to roll onto his side. "Wha-"

Geoffrey rubbed at his temple. He so didn't want to explain why Jonathan was here, but considering the way the leeches were killed, it would be even more suspicious if he claimed to have killed them all by himself. And with the broken chair and the ropes it got even more obvious that he had help. Oh, well.

Picking up his knife from where the leeches throwed it, Geoffrey went to free his men. Moore immediately shot up, remembering where he was and what happened. He clutched at the side of his head; Geoffrey could… could _smell_ he was wounded, the blood in the air warm and familiar. Nothing serious, judging by the way Moore moved.

It was almost funny, how he froze at the sight of Jonathan. "Boss! There's-"

"I know, Moore," slicing through the last ropes, Geoffrey straightened and looked at his- at Jonathan. "Let's wake the others, we need to talk."  
  
Bletchley cursed when he saw what was left of the leeches, and it was pretty hilarious, how three armed men were essentially terrified of a sheepishly looking Jonathan. Well, if one didn't pay him too much attention; the blood was too damning an evidence. Geoffrey snorted; when his men threw incredulous glances at him, he couldn't hold it any more, he roared in laughter. Nervous energy hummed inside him, and yes, it was cruel to his men and even to Jonathan (maybe), but for God's sake, their _faces_.

It felt good to laugh. Wonderful, even. He could pretend nothing serious had happened, nothing life-changing.

Blood on his chin started to dry, pulling at his skin. O'Mara was the first to notice; he aimed his gun straight at Geoffrey's head.

Oh, yes, that.

"Before you pull the trigger, Jack, I want you to know that all the Captains in London are aware of my situation. And no, I'm not a damn leech."

Others didn't take aim, but they were definitely wary. Then, slowly, Bletchley took out his cross. The effect on Jonathan was immediate: he grunted and shadow-jumped to the farthest corner of the room. Geoffrey, thank God, didn't feel anything. He smiled crookedly; oh, this was going to get tiresome.

The rest of the night went by in relative peace, although after he showed no aversion to the cross his own men were still eyeing him suspiciously. They also weren't too happy when Geoffrey let Jonathan go, and this was getting stupid; he scolded them and explained _why_ it was a bad idea for a hunter to start a fight with stupid amount of disadvantages at their disposal, and how even if he _wanted_ to kill Jonathan he would've let him go now anyway. Because he was too powerful to ambush without serious preparations even in last November, dammit, and now it was nearing the land of extremely and paranoid preparations.

As they returned to the headquarters, Geoffrey had to go through yet another test to prove he was still human; this was definitely going to get old too soon.

  
  
  


"How do you feel?" Jonathan greets him with a small smile, sitting with his legs crossed on the carpet.

"Honestly? Like an idiot," Geoffrey thinks for a moment, then shrugs and sits beside the man. "It was so simple before when there were no fucking exceptions." He rubs at his eyes tiredly and yawns. "Damn paperwork, I thought it would never end."

Jonathan huffed a short laugh at the words.

Is it possible to fall asleep inside a dream? It surely feels like Geoffrey might find out soon. But he needs to do one more thing, first.

"We need to talk."

"I agree. The Druid Order-"

"Fuck the bastards, I'm speaking of your fucking _red eyes_ tonight. No, I'm not finished, so close your mouth and listen," he turns to face Jonathan, not the fireplace. It may even be a good thing Geoffrey feels so tired now; he won't get too angry and fuck this up. "The dreams, I get it. You feel free in those and it's amazing and all that. I'm glad to help, actually. But, Jonathan, mind my words," Geoffrey pauses, intently looking into his serious, sad eyes, "I love you, and if you ever, ever decide to become a damn Dragon in the real world, I _will_ kill you. Do you understand?"

The expression in Jonathan's eyes softens, becomes bittersweet. He smiles. "The only reason why I would ever let that monster loose would be to save your life, Geoffrey," the way he says it, calmly and with utmost confidence, like one would say that sun rises in the east, takes Geoffrey by surprise. He inhales sharply, but before he can utter a word Jonathan continues: "After that, I want you to kill me."

It's…

"If you say something about your heart, I'll fucking kick you," Geoffrey grumbles, feeling his ears warm.

Jonathan chuckles, then, moving slowly and with _illegal_ sensuality, he smiles and crawls towards Geoffrey, stopping only after he straddles his hips and makes him lie back, cool hands sneaking under his shirt and sending shivers dance along the skin. Familiar fire of arousal flares in his stomach, but when Geoffrey moves to kiss Jonathan, the bastard inches back.

"What?"

"Just so we're clear. I love you too, Geoffrey."

He huffs a breath. "Yes, because it wasn't so obvious during all these months, you idiot."

The kiss, strangely, tastes of hope and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> And so here we are. Ultimately, it can be considered the last part of the series, and I hope you loved this journey as much as I did. I know I didn't explain their mental link explicitly, but maybe it's obvious enough? i'm curious about your ideas :)
> 
> Well, theoretically, I could've continued into Geoffrey's hunt in Scotland and, later, into the Priwen's life during WWII (and modern times, too), but this would require too much worldbuilding on my part. And my new job is too learning-intense - I simply won't have enough space in my head for everything. Anyway, I'm super grateful to everyone who sparked this series into being and to those who commented. Thank you for the love :3
> 
> p.s. no, I don't think it's the last fic I'll write in this fandom. I'll really try _not_ doing anything too big, but I can never be completely sure heh.


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